Uneasy

Days have passed,
Nights have flown away
Seems like ages
Since I last wrote,
Gave words to my wandering thoughts.
Itching I am to create something new
To write some creative lines
that reflect, that mirror
what is deep inside.

I wrote about pain,
I sought answers
And now when I have figured it out
When my questions have dried
I feel uneasy, I feel restless
for I have nothing more to write.

My thoughts seem to have deserted me
My mind is no more full.
Emptiness that I longed for
is now making me jittery.

I wonder -
Were my poems feeding my ego
that no more is satisfied?
Or
Is this the freedom I so much wanted
Yet somehow now I despise?